


When You Get What You Want, But Not What You Need

by WincestOTP



Series: Tell Me We'll Never Get Used To It [3]
Category: Supernatural, Ten Inch Hero
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boaz Priestley - Freeform, M/M, Piercings, Rimming, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Snark, Supernatural - Freeform, Ten Inch Hero - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WincestOTP/pseuds/WincestOTP
Summary: Sam needs a job. He's never worked in a sub shop before, but when he sees the tattooed, pierced cook, he has to at least give it a try.Part of the Tell Me We'll Never Get Used to It verse.





	When You Get What You Want, But Not What You Need

Two months in and Sam already knows the roommate thing isn't going to work. 

He’d gotten to Palo Alto a few days early, grim and exhausted both physically and emotionally. The trip across country was nothing, really...but doing it without Dean was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He’d thought Dean would figure it out, that he’d somehow _know_ how desperately Sam wanted him to come too, but if he had he’d kept it to himself. 

And now, for the first time in his life, Sam is alone. 

Except not, because the Housing Department assigned him the world’s most annoying roommate--karma, he supposed, for landing one of the coveted school monitored off-campus rooms. That wouldn’t be so bad, given that Sam has lived with Dean for the last eighteen years, but this is different. Sam had discovered immediately that he couldn’t sleep without salt lines at the door and windows. He’d painted sigils on some of the walls, high up and as unobtrusive as possible. But all that had fallen apart when his roommate arrived. The kid--Sam can’t think of him as anything but impossibly young--had freaked over the ‘Satanic’ symbols on the walls and was constantly irritated by the salt. Now, after two months, Sam had had enough. 

So he started looking for someplace different. He had some money saved up, money he’d hoped to use to buy a car and tide him over until he acclimated, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He needed an apartment and a job, asap, and neither were easy to find in a college town. 

_Help wanted. Normals need not apply._

That got a chuckle out of Sam. If only they knew...but they never would. That was what this was about, after all. Fitting in. Being normal. 

Then Sam saw him. At first he thought Dean had followed him after all, but immediately realized his brother would never wear a costume like this. Blue hair spiked into a neat mohawk, guyliner that made his gorgeous green eyes even brighter. Crazy sideburns, and the real kicker--a kilt. With combat boots. 

Sam was opening the door before his brain even registered that his feet were moving. 

A cute redhead was working the counter. Her eyes widened appreciatively when she saw Sam, her smile transforming from business friendly to voracious in a split second. 

“Hi, there. What can I do for you?” she purred, leaning forward to give Sam a better view of her cleavage. 

“I saw the sign in your window,” Sam says politely. He can’t take his eyes off the man behind the counter. Up close Sam can see the intricate tattoos swirling over his neck and arms, all but glowing against his pale skin. 

“No illiterates,” the man grunts, turning back to the grill. Sam’s eyes greedily follow the tapered line of his back, broad shoulders and a trim waist above an ass that makes Sam’s mouth water. 

“Priestley, don’t be an asshole,” the girl at the counter admonishes, rolling her eyes at Sam in commiseration. 

Priestley scoffs. “You think THAT is gonna fit in here? Stop thinking with your clit, Tish, you can fuck him on your own time.” 

Sam can feel his face warming, but he’s not giving up that easily. 

“Appearances can be deceiving, you know,” he says lightly. “If you want, maybe we can work something out over dinner.”

Abrupt silence descends on the room. Tish stares back and forth at them with wide eyes as Priestley puts down his spatula and turns to look at Sam, controlled rage in radiating from him in cold waves. 

“You think being gay makes you weird?” he asks Sam levelly, stepping forward. Sam holds his ground, refusing to be intimidated.

“No,” Sam shoots back. “I think that if you lose the attitude and talk to me for five minutes without an audience to impress you might be surprised by what you find.”

Tish gasps audibly, then laughs behind the hand she slaps over her mouth. 

“Oh, now it’s on,” she says, eyes sparkling. “I vote we hire him now.”

“No,” Priestley grinds out, eyes not leaving Sam. “Joe College here isn’t what we’re looking for. I’ll waste two weeks training him and he’ll quit for something easier.” His mouth twists contemptuously. “Been there, done that, not interested in the remake.” 

Another woman comes out from the back of the store. “Tish, the surf shop wants to double--oh.” 

“Jen! What do you think? Should we give--hey, what’s your name, anyway?”

“Sam Winchester,” Sam replies. “Nice to meet you.”

“Tish, Jen and Priestley,” Tish recites, pointing to each person. “What do you say, Jen? Should we give Sam a try?”

 

Jen looks vaguely alarmed as she backs toward the door. “I--I think you should hook up on your own time, Tish,” she says faintly. Tish grabs her arm and pulls her forward. 

“Nah, Sam here bats for the home team,” she says conspiratorily. “He already asked Priestley out to dinner.”

Jen’s eyes go wide as she takes in the tension between the two men. Sam smiles at her and Priestley scowls. “He’s just trying to score points,” Priestley says shortly, but Tish shakes her head. 

“I think it’s pretty clear he wants you to _interview_ him, Priestley,” she teases, and Sam flushes again. 

“I really need the work,” Sam says earnestly. “And...I wouldn’t mind being interviewed either.” Tish smirks in Priestley’s direction.

“I think you should, Priestley,” Jen says tentatively. “You keep shooting down everyone who comes in and I’m tired of working double shifts.” 

“Yeah,” Tisha echoes. “Some of us have a social life, you know.” Jen turns bright pink and scurries off to the back room.

“Nice, Tish,” Priestley say, rolling his eyes. 

“I didn't mean it like that,” Tish protests. “I just want to get laid more than once a week.” 

Priestley snorts. “Like _that's_ a problem,” he mutters under his breath. Then, louder, “Fine. Meet me here at 7 tomorrow night. And don't be fucking late.”

Sam isn’t late. In fact, he’s five minutes early, anxious to see Priestley again. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, only half cares about the job, he just wants to see him and the shadow of Dean riding just under the makeup and tattoos. 

Priestley nods in approval when the door chimes and Sam steps through. “Give me a sec, College,” he says, and disappears into the back room. Priestley’s wearing a tight black tee today, no snarky sayings this time. It goes well with the deep red and black of his kilt and makes his skin seem almost translucent. The thud of his boots sets up an aching echo in Sam’s heart, and this time when he wonders what he’s doing here, it doesn’t have the same ring of excitement. This guy isn’t Dean, and no matter what happens tonight he’s never going to _be_ Dean. But Sam can’t bring himself to leave and give up even this shadow of his brother. 

Priestley comes out of the back after a couple of minutes, carrying two helmets. “Hope you don’t mind riding bitch,” he says breezily, tossing one to Sam.

“Sure,” Sam says, shrugging as he catches the helmet and fastens it in place. “I’ve got nothing to prove.” Priestley’s eyes narrow just a bit, and Sam can’t tell if he passed the test or failed. 

The ride to...wherever they’re going...is torture. Sam can tell that Priestley keeps himself in shape--he drives the bike like a madman, forcing Sam to cling to him in order to stay on board. His abs are nicely firm under Sam’s hands, his shoulders hard and well muscled, and his ass must be a fucking work of art if what Sam can feel through his jeans and Priestley’s kilt is any indication. Sam’s embarrassingly hard in under five minutes, and he prays that Priestley either won’t notice or won’t care when they arrive at their destination.

Which turns out to be a soup kitchen. Sam raises his eyebrows, and Priestley doesn’t quite sneer. 

“Too good to lend a hand, College?” he asks, arms crossed. 

Sam just shrugs. “Just figured you’d be tired of dealing with food after a day at the shop. Where do they need us?” This time Sam’s sure it’s a test as Priestley smiles gleefully and grabs a mop and bucket from a passing volunteer.

“Go take a break, Tommy,” Priestley says with a genuine smile. “College boy here is going to take over for awhile.” 

Tommy frowns. “I dunno, Priestley, you sure he’s up to it?” Sam just rolls his eyes. 

“I survived living with my brother and dad for 18 years, I can handle a little mopping,” he assures the man. 

“Down the hall and to the left. Mens and womens bathroom and showers. Cleaners are in the closet next to the mens room.” Tommy lifts a key from around his neck and hands it over to Sam. “Don’t lose it.”

The next two hours aren’t as bad as Sam thinks Priestley expected them to be. He gets that this isn’t about the physical labor, it’s about what Priestley thinks Sam is willing to do, and compared to cleaning up ghoul guts? This is pretty much nothing. He starts with the showers, since it’s still dinner time, and steadily works his way through both rooms, only pausing when someone needs to use the facilities. He’s eyeing the supply closet for reorganization when Priestley comes to find him. 

“Not bad, College,” he says in approval. Sam warms under the praise as he hands over the key and gladly leaves the mop and broom for the next person. “Let’s go grab some dinner.”  
They leave the bike and stroll down to hotdog stand tucked in between two buildings. The vendor greets Priestley by name and gives Sam the once over. “Nice, very nice,” he smirks, and Sam blushes a little. “You want the usual?”

“Usual for me, Mike,” Priestley confirms. “College can order for himself.”

Mike winks at Sam as his hands fly over the various dishes and trays. “Ooh, he likes you, I can tell. What’ll it be, son?”

“Uh…” Sam looks at the bewildering array of options, most of which he’s never seen on a hotdog before. “Just give me what he’s having.” 

“Two Priestley specials coming up,” Mike says cheerfully. The dogs are ready in minutes, and Priestley pays without hesitation.

“Don’t worry, it’s company funds,” he says drily when Sam starts to protest. “If I take you on a date, you’ll know.”

“Next time, then,” Sam says mildly, refusing to be baited. They walk along the waterfront for awhile in silence, and Sam’s surprised to find the hotdog isn’t bad at all despite the unusual toppings. 

“So spill, College,” Priestley orders eventually. “Why Ten Inch Hero?” 

_You_ Sam thinks, but he doesn’t voice the thought. Instead he shrugs. “I need work. I got a full scholarship, but my roommate thinks I’m a Satanist or something because I like to draw on the walls, so I need a new place to stay. I’ve got a little money, but it’s not going to last long unless I find a way to bring in more. I’m not afraid of hard work, and I’ve done some cooking for my family--” He stops when Priestley scoffs. 

“I know it’s not the same thing,” Sam continues determinedly. “But I’m willing to do what I have to in order to make it work. And you’re hot when you yell, so at least it won’t be too bad when I mess up.”

That gets a smile out of Priestley. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he deadpans, and Sam senses victory. “So tell me about the Satanism.”

Instead of trying to explain, Sam wanders over to a patch of sand and kneels. He draws a quick protection sigil, a warding sign, and a devil’s trap. “They’re old superstitions from my dad’s family,” he explains. “He put them up no matter where we were, without fail. Said we needed them to be safe. I thought I could just leave that all behind, but…”

“But?”

“But I can’t sleep and I get anxiety if they aren’t on the walls.” He looks up challengingly at Priestley. “Is that a problem?

 

Priestley studies him, and studies the signs in the sand. “Nah,” he says at last. “Just use chalk and keep ‘em out of sight if you want to put them up at the shop. You got any other weird fetishes we should know about? Spitting between your fingers, throwing salt, drawing in blood--any shit like that?”

Sam just laughs. “No, just that and a few other signs I sometimes use.” He slants a look at Priestley, feeling bold and reckless. “And I can be discreet if I need to be. When should I start?”

The look Priestley gives him is pure heat. “Any time you want, College. Don’t let me stop you.” 

That’s exactly the sort of challenge Sam can’t resist. He rises gracefully, giving Priestley time to move away if he wants, but the older man holds his ground, his only reaction a raised eyebrow. 

“No time like the present,” Sam says, and kisses him firmly on the lips. 

It’s not exactly what Sam expected. Priestley’s lips are dry, warm, a little chapped, but just as soft and plush as Dean’s were the first time Sam kissed him. But unlike Dean, Priestley doesn’t pull away in shock, doesn’t move at all except to part his lips with a sigh. 

Sam takes that as an invitation and presses in harder. The silver ring dividing Priestley’s lower lip is warm from his body, and Sam gives into temptation, rolling it between his lips and sucking it gently. Priestley hums in pleased surprise and tugs Sam closer, hands warm and sure on Sam’s hips. They make out for a few more minutes, long enough for Sam’s jeans to get noticeably tight. He pulls back just far enough to whisper. 

“Unless we want to get arrested for public indecency, somewhere more private might be a good idea.”

Priestley just smirks. “This is California, sweetheart. You could bend me over the seawall and it’s 50/50 whether people would call the police or take pictures.” He pretends to think, one hand unsubtly rubbing over the growing bulge in Sam’s jeans. “Though if someone _did_ call the police, you might have trouble with a concealed deadly weapons charge.”

Sam tries not to look smug. “That would be just my luck. But my place is available...”

“What about your roommate?”

“Out of town for the week.” Sam doesn’t want to sound desperate, but now that he’s actually touched Priestley, tasted him, he feels like he’s drowning in the need for more. 

Priestley looks regretful. “That’s a damned tempting offer, College,” he says reluctantly. “But you and me, we’re opening tomorrow at 6am, and you don’t want to be late. The Old Man is a stickler for things like that.”

“6am? I thought the shop didn’t open til 11.”

“Yeah, well, normally I clean the grill on Tuesday nights, but something--” he grins up at Sam “--came up. Unexpectedly.” 

This time Sam smirks. “I don’t know about you, but I for one was hoping something would. And maybe go down, as well.” 

“I like you, College,” Priestley says, and Sam isn’t offended by the surprise in his voice. “Let’s get out of here, I’m gonna really put you to work in the morning.”

The stroll back to the shelter is over too soon, even though it feels like it takes forever. Priestley regals Sam with stories of working in the shop, his biting commentary reminding Sam so much of Dean that his chest hurts even as he laughs. When Priestley hands him his helmet, he finds himself regretting the loss of his company more than the lost opportunity to get off, and he wonders if he ought to be more concerned about that than he is. 

 

True to his word, Priestley puts Sam through the ringer the next morning. Sam’s waiting outside the shop when Priestley arrives at 6am, looking far too gorgeous and awake for that time of the morning. The thick kohl around his eyes makes them glow in the early light, and his mohawk is green today, matching the stripes in his green and blue kilt. Best of all is his pleased smile as he escorts Sam inside and shows him where to put his things. Sam’s heart clenches in his chest as he follows Priestley around, half lost in a daze of want and hurting, aching need. 

He shakes himself out of the past when they start on the grill. It’s not that much different than the camp stoves Sam is used to, and he picks up what needs to be done pretty quickly. But it’s his knife skills that really win the day. 

“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” Priestley asks suspiciously after Sam reduces an onion to a large pile of uniformly sized bits in short order. “Is this some kind of prank? Are you from some cooking show filming us or something?” There’s humor in his voice, but a level of surprise, too. 

“Nah, just something I picked up watching the cooking channel,” Sam lies easily. “My dad travelled a lot for work so there wasn’t a lot for me and my brother to do while he was out. Most of the motels only got a few channels, and all the porn was blocked.”

“It always is,” Priestley says with mock solemn regret. “Alright, show me what you can do with a tomato.”

Sam reduces it to a pile of thin, even slices in moments as Priestley watches in approval. The bell over the door rings and Sam looks up to see Tish sauntering over to the counter. She leans over to see what they’re doing, giving Sam a nice long look down her blouse in the process. 

“Well, the interview process went well, I see.” She licks her lips, eyes sparkling in anticipation. “I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

“Not much to tell,” Priestley says easily. “College is a damned hard worker and he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.” 

Tish pouts. “I _knew_ that. But I want details!” She smiles conspiratorily. “Is he proportional?”

Priestley’s eyes go flat and dark as Sam squirms a little, uncomfortable. “Cut it out, Tish,” he says mildly, picking up the diced veggies and heading toward the cooler. “You’re making College squirm.” He swats Sam on the ass with his free hand and grins. “I’m the only one allowed to do that.” 

“I knew it!” Tish crows, clapping. “Any time you decide to walk on the wild side, College, you know where to find me.” She slinks off to the employee lounge with a smirk, leaving Sam utterly confused. 

“Don’t mind her,” Priestley says, coming back to the counter with more produce for Sam to dice. “She’s harmless. Mostly.” He leans against the counter, arms crossed. “Do that thing with the knife again, it’s hot.” 

Sam laughs, his face heating up a little as he starts in on the small mountain of onions, tomatoes and peppers in front of him. _About time this came in handy_ , he thinks, and gets to work. 

The day goes by quickly. Sam helps where ever he’s needed, answering phones, taking orders and bussing tables as he learns the rhythm of the shop. It’s hard work, different than anything he’s used to, but he can feel Priestley’s eyes on him and it’s strangely comforting. When they all collapse around the table in back around 7pm for dinner, Sam leans into him unconsciously, lulled by the sense of familiarity and comfort he can’t help but feel. Tish smirks at them but doesn’t say anything, while Jen just looks away, clearly ill at ease. 

“Don’t mind her either,” Priestley murmurs as they clean up. “She’s just terminally shy. She’ll warm up a little once you’ve been here awhile.” He hesitates, to Sam’s surprise. “You want a ride home?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam says, trying not to sound too eager. “Uh, thanks.” He spends the ride back to his apartment hoping he’s not reading too much into the offer, but when they pull up, Priestley immediately gets off his bike and follows Sam up to the door. 

“That offer still good?” he asks mildly, and Sam nods, mouth suddenly dry. 

“Come on in.” Sam unlocks the door, and once it’s closed behind them Priestley swings him around. 

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” he asks seriously. “You’ve got the job, no matter what happens between us.” 

In response, Sam kisses him, the way he’d wanted to last night--long and slow and sweet, rolling his lipring between his teeth and discovering that Priestley as a tongue stud as well. Sam sucks on the stud, every sound Priestley makes making him more eager, more desperate for more.

Finally, Priestley pulls back, a little out of breath. “You got a room?” he asks, eyes hungry as he eyes the growing tent in Sam’s jeans. “I wouldn’t mind getting a little more comfortable.” 

Sam swallows hard. “Yeah,” he says roughly. “Come on.” Priestley follows him down the short hallway to Sam’s bedroom, warm against Sam's back, and Sam gives him a smirk over his shoulder. “You a traditionalist? I've been wondering since I first saw you.”

Priestley’s eyes gleam in the dark hallway. “Guess you’re about to find out, aren’t you?”

Sam unlocks the door to his room with a flourish. “Not much to look at--”

“Not looking at the room,” Priestley tells him, and this kiss is nothing like the others. He takes control with ease, angling Sam exactly how he wants him, forcing his mouth open wide as he explores every inch. His hands burrow under Sam’s shirts, warm on bare skin and skimming up to his chest to thumb over his nipples before he pulls back just long enough to yank the offending cloth over Sam’s head and toss it aside. 

“ _Fuck,_ College. What the hell have you been doing in your spare time?” Priestley drops to his knees, tongue already tracing over the cut of Sam’s abs, digging the stud in his tongue into Sam’s belly button. Sam squirms, laughing breathlessly, but the sound dies when Priestley looks up at him, eyes glowing green, lips already swollen and pink. He looks so much like Dean that Sam can’t look away, can’t speak, the longing for his brother overwhelming every sense. Sam can’t resist running his thumb over that full lower lip, and the warm metal ring splitting Priestley’s lip jars him back to the present. Priestley sucks Sam’s thumb between his lips, the stud in his tongue stroking over the pad and making his dick jump hard. Sam groans, low and harsh.

“Gonna rock your world, College,” Priestley says with a dark grin, and attacks Sam’s belt and jeans with renewed fervor. He eases Sam’s jeans and briefs down, Sam’s cock jumping up to slap against his belly, red and wet and hard. “Jesus fuck, College. That thing _is_ a deadly weapon.” 

“Never--never had any complaints before,” Sam says shakily. He groans again when Priestley licks slowly up the underside, the warm metal in his tongue dragging hard and smooth over the thick vein. He takes the head into his mouth, working the sensitive nerves under the head and fisting the rest slowly. His mouth is heaven, hot and wet, perfect suction only broken when he digs the metal ball in his tongue into Sam’s weeping slit. His lips stretch wide around Sam’s thick member, so much like Dean that Sam’s on edge in minutes, hands thoughtlessly ruining Priestley’s perfect mohawk as he tries not to come before they’re even really started. 

“Priestley--wait--stop--I’m--” Sam stammers incoherently, thoughts spinning wildly. Priestley hums around him, and Sam thinks that’s it, balls drawn up tight as the warmth in his stomach flares and spreads throughout his body. His hips jerk helplessly, his cock slipping through Priestley’s fingers until they reach the base--and squeeze tight. Priestley drags his lips the length of Sam’s dick, letting the head slip through his lips with an obscene pop. 

“No way, College,” he says, voice a little raspy. The sound makes Sam’s dick twitch painfully in Priestley’s firm grip. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. No way you’re coming til I get this monster inside me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam groans. He grabs Priestley’s shoulders, hauling him to his feet and slamming their mouths together. He can feel Priestley fumbling with the kilt and grabs his hands. “Keep it on,” he growls, and spins him around to face the wall. He knocks Priestley’s legs further apart and laces their fingers together against the old-fashioned wallpaper, plastering himself to the older man’s back. Sam sinks his teeth into the back of Priestley’s neck then licks over the mark to soothe the sting. “You want this?” he growls again, grinding against Priestley’s firm ass. “Then I’m going to give it to you.” 

Priestley pushes back against Sam eagerly. “Enough talk, more fucking, College,” he smirks over his shoulder. “Show me what you got.” 

Sam lets go of Priestley’s hand long enough to push two fingers into his mouth. “Get them wet,” he orders, biting down on Priestley’s ear. Priestley sucks them in eagerly, moaning as he licks all the way down to the webbing. Sam pulls up Priestley’s kilt, bunching the thick material around his waist and tucking it into the waistband. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes as Priestley’s thighs come into view and Sam sees what his kilt has been hiding. Priestley makes a disappointed sound as Sam pulls his fingers free, swallowed as Sam drops to his knees and rubs his hands over the bowed curve of Priestley’s thighs and up to the firm muscle of Priestley’s ass. He can’t believe what he’s seeing, what he’s feeling. He’s torn between grief and arousal, and he pushes the grief away, shoves it down and locks it up with everything else he’s determined not look at ever again. 

“Fucking perfect ass,” he mutters, gripping Priestley’s ass and spreading him open. He breathes out over the puckered skin of his opening, pulling a drawn out curse from Priestley, then licks over the sensitive rim. The first push of his tongue knocks Priestley speechless, the small noises he’s making in the back of his throat and the shove of his hips against Sam’s face driving Sam crazy. Sam pushes a finger inside alongside his tongue, wanting _more_ , wanting everything. 

Priestley groans above him. “Not gonna break, College. Fuck me like you mean it.” 

Sam pulls his tongue free and finger free, flexing his sore jaw, then pushes in three fingers with no warning. Priestley shouts, one hand slapping against the wall as Sam spreads his fingers wide, licking around Priestley’s rim where it’s stretched thin and pink around his fingers. “Your wish is my command,” Sam says breathlessly, standing up and stretching along the length of Priestley’s body. He pulls out his wallet, finds the silver wrapped condom he keeps there for emergencies. His fingers are still in Priestley’s hole, still working, still stretching, as he tears open the packet with his teeth. Priestley honest to God whimpers when Sam finally pulls his fingers free to stretch the condom over his aching cock, spitting on his hand and slicking the latex as best he can. 

“You ready?” Sam asks, the head of his cock already nudging at Priestley’s hole. 

“Come _on_ ,” Priestley says through gritted teeth. “ _Please._ ”

That’s all Sam needs to hear, all he can bear. He pushes in, taking Priestley at his word and not stopping until he bottoms out. By the time he’s all the way in Priestley is collapsed against the wall, his forehead pressed against the wallpaper, whining deep in his throat as Sam stretches him impossibly wide. Sam struggles to breathe, so deep inside Priestley he can feel his heartbeat throbbing around him as he slowly pulls back. Sam locks his hands around Priestley’s hips, holding him still as he pushes back in, hard and fast, desperate for release after Priestley’s earlier teasing. He can tell when he finds Priestley’s sweet spot, his body clenching tighter around Sam’s cock, pleasure spiking in them both like a fever. 

“Touch yourself,” Sam gasps, frantic. “Do it, come for me--” and Priestley does, jacking himself in time with Sam’s pounding thrusts, orgasm bursting over both of them in a burning wave that seems to last forever. 

Priestley’s knees give way and Sam catches him, holds them both against the wall as they slowly come back down. 

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ,” Priestley says raggedly, once he can breathe again. “You treat all your first dates like this, College?” 

“Sam,” Sam corrects him, only half joking. “My cock is still in your ass, I think you can use my name.”

“Whatever...you fuck all your first dates like this, Sammy?” And Sam feels himself go cold. _It’s not his fault,_ Sam reminds himself. _He doesn’t know_. 

“Sammy’s a chubby 12 year old,” Sam says with a forced laugh. “It’s just Sam.” 

Priestley goes quiet, really quiet, and Sam can practically hear the wheels turning. 

“Alright, Sam.” He straightens up carefully, legs still a little wobbly. He hisses a little when Sam slips free, tugs the hem of his kilt free from the waistband before turning his face up for a kiss. Sam is happy to oblige, languid and relaxed, just enjoying the sensation. Finally Priestley pulls back with a sigh. “I hate to fuck and run, but I gotta be into work tomorrow at nine.” 

“Bathroom’s through there,” Sam tells him, a stab of disappointment in his gut. It’s irrational to think Priestley would stay the night on a first date, no matter what kind of connection Sam feels between them, but Sam misses having someone close more than he ever thought he would. He dresses slowly, thinking.

When Priestley comes back out, he can’t help asking. “You sure you don’t want to stay for awhile? Have a beer or two? Everyone’s out of town, we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

Priestley raises an eyebrow. “You have beer?”

Sam grins. “Oh, I have lots of useful skills,” he purrs, pulling Priestley close. “We’ve barely scratched the surface.” 

“I like the sound of that,” Priestley says lightly. He kisses Sam, pushing him back toward the narrow twin bed that Sam had pointed out as his own. “I didn’t get to spend nearly as much time as I wanted--”

A sharp bang on the door startles them both. Sam has his hand on the knife under the pillow before he remembers he’s safe, and he sees Priestley catch the movement, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“Settle down in there, you two!” The voice is older, just starting to quaver--Sam’s landlord. “No school is no excuse for all this racket!” Shuffling footsteps fade into the distance, and they both start laughing. 

“Okay, that was unfortunate,” Priestley says when they calm down. “And I think it’s my cue. Also? Next time we’re going to my place.” 

_Next time_ brings a smile to Sam’s face. “I’m holding you to that.” 

Priestley kisses Sam one more time, hand on the door. “9am sharp, College,” he reminds Sam. “Don’t be late.”


End file.
